


No end

by WahlBuilder



Category: The Technomancer (Video Game)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-12 23:09:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20164159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: One day, Vik says he needs to get out, alone. He takes a light sandsail with provisions, and Sirin with him.Anton sees him off, says he will be waiting, no matter what.





	No end

**Author's Note:**

> Related to [Hope](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18111920).

After Dandolo gives Sirin to Vik, things don’t become better immediately. One day, Vik says he needs to get out, alone. He takes a light sandsail with provisions, and Sirin with him.

Anton sees him off, says he will be waiting, no matter what.

He doesn’t start crying until the elevator lifts Vik’s ’sail out of sight—only then Anton slides down the nearest wall.

He spends most of the time here, by the elevator. Sitting on a crate, working from his tablet or reading or dozing off, sometimes with plans spread out on a few more crates. Sometimes he comes here at night, sometimes spends the whole day. Everyone knows that if they can’t find him in his rooms in the Palace, they’ll find him here. Sometimes he helps the arriving or departing caravans.

He knows Vik might never return. Because he chooses to, because everything becomes too much, his own life too heavy to bear. Because something happens to him... Whatever reason.

But Anton promised, and so he’s waiting, and he will be waiting forever if need be.

He doesn’t jump to his feet anymore each time the elevator is called up or when it goes down. It can be a little inconvenient at times to do work here, and he had to leave Noctis for couple of weeks several times (worrying, wound up so tight, what if Vik returns when he’s not there?!), and it’s been harder lately, because Ophir demands his presence. (It’s so strange to realize that his efforts have raised a generation of people who can take care of Ophir in his absence, but Ophir still wants him.) New Assembly elections are coming up, but before that electoral district borders are set to be redrawn, and he worries that his assessment of the proposed borders might be wrong because he hasn’t been in Ophir for a while...

The elevator chimes, going up.

There’s been more and more caravans lately: refugees take up Noctian trades, and kids grow up and fly out, and Mars needs Noctis more than ever, to provide communications and a sense of unity. The roving clans of the Alliance can’t keep up, and the Complex is much distrusted because of their involvement in the war between Abundance and Aurora. Dandolo says that the winds don’t love the Alliance because the Alliance tries to tame them, not ride them.

Anton used to keep up with the schedules, even though often caravans could change routes or the weather is especially fine for fast travel, but lately it’s been impossible: too many comings and goings.

The elevator goes down pretty fast. Not a whole caravan, then. Scouts returning so early? No, no, the Guard should be using a different dock today. A messenger? But usually messengers use the east or north gates: the bulk of communication needed is with the Corps. And Valley uses city gates, not elevators, because they send messengers on ostriches.

Only messengers looking for Anton come here.

So, someone from Ophir. Fuck. He doesn’t want to leave for some emergency.

He pulls back from his desk (provided half a year into his vigil by Orion and accompanied by The Scowl). It is, indeed, a lone sandsail. In quite a dusty state. Gods, Orion would Glare and maybe even Grumble. He grounds the pilots who go too far south right into the killing winds. Nevermind that the only pilot who would go there out of his own free will is a certain peacock and everyone else would take that route only if they had no alternatives left. Well, at least if they die, they wouldn’t get shouted at by Orion.

The pilot emerging from the gondola is as dusty as the sail, some... bundle clinging to their shoulder? They are very tall and Anton’s heart aches as painfully as ever. People say you get used to it, to the absence, but he couldn’t.

He imagined them growing old together, but maybe he’d have to grow old alone, waiting for Vitya. A fitting punishment for failing the man he loves.

They remove the goggles, unwrap the headscarf, all movements precise, but with purpose to them. Impatience. They are looking around with urgency, and then stop right on Anton, and their eyes are wet steel, and...

Vik smiles—with his eyes alone. “Look what Sirin can do again.” He lifts his elbow, and Sirin takes off, wings flapping, one gray-orange, another the red of solar sails. And he’s coming right at Anton with a long screech, and then flapping frantically to stop, but it’s futile, and he crashes into Anton’s chest.

Staggering, Anton has only the thought that he should catch Sirin fast, and then the long proboscis is poking his cheek and his neck, and the screeching has turned into incessant clicking.

A chuckle makes his heart clench as he presses the manta to his chest.

“Not good with landing yet. We are getting there. Won’t you look at me, Tosha?”

He can’t. He’s afraid none of this is real. He’d had enough dreams.

But he has to. So he looks up.

It’s his Vitya. Still his. More alive than before, though with uncertainty hidden on his face—but it’s alright, Anton can read it. He pays attention. He will always pay attention now. He won’t fail Vitya again.

“Stubble doesn’t suit you at all, Vitya.”

“I had a beard at one point, it was very uncomfortable.”

“By the gods.”

They swing to each other—though Anton winces when Sirin’s feet-pricks dig into his skin through the tunic as Sirin climbs onto his back. “You’ve gained weight, Sirin.”

“On a diet of locusts and jellies twice a day it’s a wonder he hasn’t slowed us down.”

Anton feels like the ground must come from under his feet or a quake must happen or... Something. Is this real.

Vik smiles again. “I so wanted to come home.”

“Now you are.” He slides his hand up Vik’s arm, the jacket rough from sand, and cups Vik’s neck.

Vik’s eyelids flutter. Still has a sensitive neck.

And then they are moving closer, wrapping each other in their arms, holding tight.

“Yes. I’m home,” Vik breathes out, pressing his face to Anton’s neck, and Anton feels hot wetness sliding down his skin.

He isn’t much better.

“Vitya.”

“Tosha.”


End file.
